A Watched Clock Sneaks Up
by Padfoot Reincarnated
Summary: Hermione waits to grow up and fall in love, but love comes to her instead. There'll be no avoiding it, this time! RHr


**Here's some fic! Never written R/Hr before. Don't own HP, blah blah blah.**

"_Strange, that some of us, with quick alternate vision, see beyond our infatuations, and even while we rave on the heights, behold the wide plain where our persistent self pauses and awaits us."_

- George Eliot

Hermione wishes she knew how to tell when she was grown up. She knows it's a silly thing to think, really. But growing up means so many things; it means being brave and falling in love and letting yourself be loved, too.

So she only watches as Ginny and Lavender and Parvati all play the baby games of children imitating grown-ups in love. She sees them hold hands with boys and pen love-poems and be happy for a little while, and she also sees the disaster when it ends.

She isn't missing out on anything. She doesn't have time for these games.

She's waiting to be old enough for it to be real.

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She thinks she is in love with Ron.

It scares her when she realizes it. She's only fifteen years old, after all, and she doesn't want to be doing this already. She thinks of all the books she's read and thinks that she is too young to be in love. She pictures words scrolling along a screen: infatuation, crush, puppy-love, idolatry.

She thinks this; and can't stop herself from loving him.

So instead, she waits.

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She knows she isn't grown up when she sees Ron lying still and white in the hospital wing from Slughorn's mead.

She still isn't grown up when they are waiting for Harry to come back with Dumbledore and worrying that he won't.

And she certainly isn't grown up when she sees Bill Weasley torn apart by a werewolf and can't use anything she's learned to help him.

But she is grown up enough to see that it's time to stop waiting.

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He's her best friend, and she can hardly stand to be in the same room with him.

But she absolutely can't bear to be in a room without him.

She stands with him at Dumbledore's funeral. He's taller than she is, and his arms fit around her like missing puzzle pieces—a cliché she doesn't like to use, but one that fits all the same. He's touching her hair and she closes her eyes.

"Hermione," he whispers into her cheek. His breath is warm and the air is cold and Dumbledore is dead.

She promised herself not to cry. And she wasn't going to.

"It's okay," he whispers, and she collapses into his chest. Being loved hurts more than being alone.

Her face hurts from staying stiff and her eyes hurt from being dry and he's broken her defenses by saying her name.

He kisses her hair, and she tries to pretend she doesn't love him.

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Ron is too close, and she likes it far too much.

She sees the freckles on his cheeks and the grey flecks in his eyes and she notices that his eyelashes are red. Her eyes are slipping closed and she feels herself trembling and he is still leaning in.

_Come closer. Don't. Come closer. Don't. Come closer._

They shared their first real kiss the last time she ever set foot on the Hogwarts Express. And then it was over.

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Hermione loves weddings, and she knows for a fact that Ron hates them.

He's one of the groomsmen at Bill's wedding, and he looks miserable in his black and white dress robes. He plays with the silver and gold embroidered hemline and stares moodily at the ground. He scuffles his feet and tries to be subtle about catching Harry's eye and gagging.

She loves weddings, but she loves this one the best.

At the reception, she stands by the wall with Ginny and Fleur's sister, Gabrielle, and watches Ron and Harry standing on the other side of the reception hall, talking and shooting would-be sneaky glances at the girls on the other side of the hall.

Finally, Ron comes over to her. He is bright red and he stutters when he speaks.

"Erm. Hermione," he croaks. "Would you like to dance? Only if you want to, of course, it was just a thought." He rubs the back of his neck. "Probably a stupid one," he says, flustering. "I just thought, you know, if you wanted—"

She catches his arm and smiles at him. He turns an even brighter shade of red. "Sure," Hermione agrees, looking back at Ginny and Gabrielle. They push her forward so she's almost in his arms, and she blushes too. "If you want to," she adds.

The music Bill's picked right now is the Weird Sisters. She hates the Weird Sisters.

The music's fast, but they dance slow, and Hermione hardly hears the song at all.

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For all his trouble with asking her to dance in the first place, Ron is remarkably straight-forward when he asks her to be his girlfriend.

"Hermione," he says seriously. "It's looking all bad with You-Know-Who, and the Horcruxes and all."

She nods, and is content to feel her chin on top of her head. He is her best friend, and she is allowed to love him.

"So I want to tell you," he said. "That I love you. And I think we should—we should to be together. You know."

She forgets about waiting to grow up, and knows this isn't baby-love.

"I agree," she says matter-of-factly.

He's smiling when she stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, and she tastes happiness in the corner of his mouth.

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When they reenter the reception, they are holding hands and she knows her face is bright red. Harry sees them and hurries over.

"You two are ridiculous," he says fondly, rolling his eyes.

Hermione smiles and squeezes Ron's hand tightly. If being in love is ridiculous, then she absolutely is.

**So, you made it all the way through! Why not stop and leave me a review? If you do, I will love you forever (and give you chocolate)!**


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